


Does This Belong To You?

by lixabiz



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, College AU, F/M, Lost and Found AU, tortoises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-01 16:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2780465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lixabiz/pseuds/lixabiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose works at the Lost Property Office on campus where a lot of strange items have been showing up recently. Including a tortoise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Case of the Misplaced Tortoise

**Author's Note:**

> A very silly and random little Christmas AU, inspired by a prompt on a Tumblr post. Hope you enjoy and happy holidays to all!

December heralded a lot of things on campus, including dismal english weather, silly posters, and a great number of students finding themselves sartorially inspired to don some rather questionably ugly Christmas jumpers. Several bunches of mistletoe also happened to appear mysteriously overnight and were found hanging from the arches of busy entrance-ways and paths heavy with foot-traffic. Subtlety was not a strong factor among the University’s population.  
  
Twas the season, as some would say, and something was definitely in the air. Rose, who had recently been appointed a student position in the Lost Property Office, noticed an influx of… interesting items.  
  
It was a gradual progression from mildly odd (a jar of different coloured buttons left in the men’s loo) to somewhat odd (springs of varying sizes, found scattered across the front steps of the arts building) to blatantly odd (twenty-five cat collar bells, tied together and left dangling from the open windows of a history lecture room on the fourth floor).  
  
Things escalated from there at a disturbing pace. After a hastily consumed lunch on an otherwise quiet Thursday, Rose looked up from the paper she was writing on her laptop and did a double take.  
  
Incredulously, she asked, “Is that a _crossbow_?”  
  
"Yeah," said the boy gingerly holding it. He laid it on the counter. "Found it in the bushes outside my dorm. I was, uh, taking a walk this morning."  
  
Rose wondered if ‘taking a walk’ was a euphemism for ‘taking a leak after staying out all night getting pissed’ but decided she’d rather not  know.  
  
Later that same afternoon, a confused girl came in carrying a plastic mannequin arm which she had found in the basement of the Physics lab building.  
  
None of these things compared to what arrived just as Rose sat down at the beginning of her shift on Friday, however. An extremely nonplussed Professor stormed into the Lost Property Office and plonked something on the counter that Rose was definitely certain did not belong in the Anthropology Studies lecture hall.  
  
Something that was alive.  
  
Or might have been, anyway.  
  
*  
  
"Well," was all Mrs. Adeola could say. "What is it… we’re dealing with here, exactly?"  
  
Jake, who manned the desk on the days Rose didn’t, shrugged. “Apparently, a tortoise with a BIOHAZARD sticker on its shell.”  
  
"And we’re certain it isn’t… dead?"  
  
"Reckon it’s just sleeping," Rose said thoughtfully. "My little brother has pet tortoises. I think they hibernate in the winter."  
  
Jake eyed the shell with doubt. “D’you think we should try to wake it and give it food? What do tortoises eat?”  
  
"Lettuce?"  
  
Rose reached out to touch the shell of the creature, but Jake batted her hand away.  
  
"Are you crazy? What if it’s _actually_ biohazardous?”  
  
She rolled her eyes and used the ends of her rainbow striped woolly scarf to pick up the inanimate shell. Holding it up to one eye, Rose peered into the hole where a head ought to peek out. There was definitely something inside, something dark and fleshy.  
  
"The occupant is in," she declared.  
  
Mrs. Adeola sighed. “I don’t suppose either of you know anything about turtles?”  
  
"I just came to get my lecture notes," said Jake. "I can’t stay."  
  
"I’m not an expert," said Rose, "But I can do some research."  
  
"Please do, Miss Tyler."  
  
*  
  
A quick Google search revealed that tortoises did indeed hibernate through the cold months, but also that they required very precise conditions in which to survive said hibernation spells. Rose, alarmed by what she found on the internet, immediately set out to find a plastic container and some soil. She was able to procure a sand bucket and a few handfuls of dirt (surreptitiously stolen from potted plants in the administrative offices upstairs) and set her new little friend inside.  
  
"Prolonged temperatures above 10ºC can prove detrimental to your tortoise’s health," Rose read aloud from the web page she had open on her laptop. _Oh bloody hell,_ she thought.  
  
"Are you boiling in there, buddy? What are we going to do about this, hey? Any ideas?" She sighed, and used the end of her braided hair to tickle the motionless shell.  
  
The only thing she could think of was to set the poor thing, bucket et all, onto one of the shelves  lining the back of the wall furthest from the doors and turn the thermostat all the way down for the night. Hopefully that would be enough prevent accidental reptile death.  
  
"Should I take you home?" Rose murmured, hesitating and lifting the tortoise out of the bucket once more to ponder her options. "Never research things on the internet. It leads to indecision and paranoia. I s’pose I could put you in the vegetable crisper, but mum might have a coronary when she finds you there in the morning. I suppose I could bribe Tony into saying it’s one of his."  
  
She was still contemplating the pros and cons of shelf vs crisper when her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, loud _BANG!_ The bucket slipped from her hand as she jumped in surprise.  
  
Several things happened at once:  
  
Firstly, the doors to the office burst open and a wild-eyed, wild-haired bloke came running inside, skidding to a stop in front of the counter. He slapped his hands down on the open record logs, eyes darting back and forth- “Hello? Anyone home?”  
  
Secondly, Rose very nearly dropped the tortoise. For amazingly enough, it had chosen this particular moment to poke its head out of it’s shell, startling her as much as the young man’s precipitous entry into the room.  
  
"Jesus, you gave me a fright!" Rose exclaimed, both to the visitor and to the tortoise. Then- "Oi! What do you think you’re doing-!"  
  
She stumbled backwards as a tall, skinny body hoisted itself onto the counter and swung a pair of long, trouser-clad legs over to land with a heavy thump on her side. The log clattered to the floor, spilling pages everywhere. Rose barely had time to register any dismay over this before her invader let loose a loud exclamation of _"You!"_ and charged headlong at her.  
  
Rose backed up, alarmed. “What do you want?”  
  
"ALONSO!" he cried. A manic expression lit up his face as he snatched the tortoise from her.  
  
 _What the-_  
  
Incensed, Rose did what was only logical in the situation. She grabbed the mannequin arm off the top shelf of the cabinet and whacked him in the shoulder with it.  
  
"Ow!" he cried, giving her a wounded, offended look. "What was that for?"  
  
"You’re not allowed back here!"  
  
"That’s no call for violence!"  
  
"It’s trespassing!"  
  
Cradling the little shell to his chest, he said, plaintively, “I only came because someone told me the Lost Property Office had a tortoise and I just _knew_ it would be mine! Alonso! I thought you were gone forever! I left the room for _one second_ and someone kidnapped you! Right out from under my nose!”  
  
This seemed highly unlikely to Rose, remembering the harried state of the Professor who had dropped the tortoise off. She said, firmly, “You’re still not allowed behind the counter!”  
  
He opened his mouth to argue again, but the sight of the open shelving behind Rose caught his attention. His jaw dropped. “My things! All my things! I’ve been looking for my things!”  
  
"Your- hey!"  
  
She was unceremoniously pushed aside and found herself holding, er, Alonso, again, as the bloke began tearing through items on hold,  tossing aside purses and keyrings and gloves and proceeding to make a frightful mess.  
  
"Oi!"  
  
Her indignation was completely ignored. He hopped from foot to foot with excitement and crowed, “My 14th century crossbow replica model! My button collection! Blimey, even the springs are here, oh, darn, the fourth one’s missing, but - wow, that’s quite a collection of pants, I’m impressed, who knew people lost so much underwear? - Ooooh! The cat collars! Donna will be so pleased!”  
  
Turning, he flashed a grin at her, all straight teeth and dimples and inexplicably charming hyperactivity. “Ohhhh, oh oh oh, you have no idea how glad I am that all of this has finally turned up again!”  
  
Rose blinked, utterly flummoxed - mostly from the onslaught of words he’d rattled off at her and maybe just a little bit from that smile. He was a fellow student, though she had never seen him before. But that was not surprising, really: she usually avoided crazy people.  
  
"All that stuff’s… yours, then, is it?"  
  
"Uh huh!" He bobbed his head excitedly, ruffling his hair with both hands and pulling more and more objects out of storage and shoving them into his pockets or lobbing them onto the counter.  
  
"Right," said Rose, dodging a polka-dotted rubber duck as it sailed past her head. "You’re mad, you know?"  
  
"People do keep saying that," he muttered, "But in this instance I really fail to see how madness has anything to do with reclaiming my rightful possessions!"  
  
"What’s the crossbow for?" she demanded.  
  
"It’s a replica. I made it for my friend’s history presentation. It’s very historically accurate, minus the poison-tipped bows of course."  
  
"And the cat collars?"  
  
"Charity animal shelter donation. My cousin made them. We hung them up to let the glue on the bells dry, but unfortunately it was a very windy night and they made a lot of noise. Probably what caught people’s attention. Oh well, lesson learnt. Next time: Aunt Sylvia’s washing line."  
  
Was he being serious? She couldn’t tell. “What about the tortoise?”  
  
"Don’t be rude, he’s got a name. Haven’t you, Alonso?"  
  
"Is he your pet?"  
  
"I s’pose you can call him that. I would say companion. The finest of companions, in fact." He turned and stroked the top of Alonso’s little brown head and cooed, "Aren’t you, lovey? Yes you are!"  
  
"There was a sticker, on him, when he was brought in. Said he’s a biohazard."  
  
He laughed, “Was there really? Wonder how that got there?”  
  
"I took it off, he was being unfairly discriminated against for it," said Rose, lifting Alonso up. "He’s been inside his shell the whole time. You’d better feed him, I’ll bet he’s starving by now."  
  
"You’re probably right," he said, peering at the little tortoise in consternation. "It’s what happens when you suffer from stage fright. I’m trying to cure him, but it’s slow going. Doesn’t help that he’s a picky eater."  
  
"Do tortoises get stage fright? What are you doing with him? The Christmas Panto?"  
  
"He’ll be playing one of the wise men, Saturday after next, Drama department, Building A-2, 6PM. Tickets can be reserved by phone or in person. Ask for Sally."  
  
A smile tugged at Rose’s mouth, but she fought it back. “What do you feed him?”  
  
"He likes day old lettuce kept out of the crisper. For a treat I give him some hibiscus petals, he likes those. Sometimes rose hips." As if on cue, Alonso started to nibble on the ends of Rose’s scarf.  
  
She carefully pulled the woolly fringe away from his little mouth. “I was gonna take you home with me. We have lots of lettuce. Mum’s on a diet again this week. To think, you could’ve spent the night in my mum’s refrigerator.”  
  
"Really? You were going to do that?"  
  
"I was considering it when you burst in here." With the air of someone who knew more about tortoises than what they’d learned from five minutes on the internet, she added, "Hibernating tortoises don’t fare well in warm environments for long periods of time."  
  
Alonso’s owner straightened slightly and threw Rose an appraising look over his shoulder. The smile that spread over his face was infectious. “Ah. You’re an expert, I see. Seems like he was in good hands, then.”  
  
To keep up the illusion (because she simply _had_ to, now), she asked, “So, when did Alonso go into hibernation?”  
  
"About two months ago," said his owner, returning to his previous task of shoving random objects into his pockets. They bulged, giving him the air of an overgrown child who had ransacked a candy jar. (Some of it, in fact, probably was candy - someone had turned in a paper bag full of jelly babies last week.)  
  
"He should’ve stayed in hibernation for another two or three months, then," said Rose, brow wrinkling. "Isn’t this bad for him?"  
  
"Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it. Alonso is a hardy fellow. And it’s far more dangerous for little tortoises like him to sleep too long than the other way ‘round. It eats up their fat reserves and they die."  
  
"You are rather small," Rose said to Alonso. "But you might grow to be huge. Tony’s tortoise grew to twice it’s size in six months. Is Alonso a baby?"  
  
Her question went unanswered - “Think I’ve got everything!” he said, patting his pockets. “What luck! Must’ve gotten out of the right side of the bed this morning! Perfect. I’ll be on my way then, Alonso needs feeding back at the dorm - Oh. Wait.” He dashed around the counter, scrambled around on the floor picking up the log sheets and various items that were scattered on the ground, and politely put everything back on the counter in a neat pile. “Sorry about that. And thanks! You saved my life!”  
  
With a cheerful nod of his head, he reclaimed Alonso and was out the door, merrily whistling the first two bars of ‘It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas’.  
  
Rose watched him go, bemused by the entire encounter. The doors swung shut and she was left to stare at them in silence.  
  
They suddenly swung open again, making her jump. _What now_ , she wondered.  
  
A nest of messy brown hair poked curiously back inside, both eyebrows raised. He said, gravely, “I forgot to ask.”  
  
"What?"  
  
"What’s your name?"  
  
 _Huh?_ “What?”  
  
He repeated the question louder; as though he thought she hadn’t heard him, as if it were an issue of mere _volume_ , “What’s your name?”  
  
"Rose. Rose Tyler."  
  
Well, that was odd. She hadn’t intended to say anything, but her mouth seemed to have operated on it’s own accord.  
  
"Nice to meet you, Rose!" he said with an easy grin, and with one hand bore Alonso aloft in a weird sort of salute before disappearing again.  
  
"Mad," Rose said to herself. "Just absolutely mad."  
  
But she found that she was smiling, and wasn’t that just the strangest thing, too?


	2. It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Tortoise

The Lost Property Office shelves were brimming once again on Monday. Rose dropped by to collect her scarf and found Jake struggling with a large and clunky plastic figure when she arrived. It was, oddly enough, a garden gnome dressed in a Bayern Munich football kit.  
  
"What an absolute zoo," Jake huffed in annoyance. He shoved the gnome face forward into the corner. "Can’t have this bloody thing staring at me all day. Gives me the creeps. And god knows what those awful things in the ziploc bags are!"  
  
"Beetle scarabs," said Rose knowledgeably. It was amazing what you knew from having a little brother who was interested in all manner of creepy crawly things.  
  
"Eurgh," said Jake.  
  
Unbothered by the dead beetles, Rose surveyed the motley collection of items lying on the shelves. She had a strong feeling she knew who most of it belonged to - if only she knew his name.  
  
Unfortunately, she didn’t. In the flurry of reclaiming activity and their conversation about tortoises she had forgotten to make Alonso’s owner sign the release form for his belongings; an oversight that had earned her a sharp reprimand from Mrs. Adeola.  
  
 _Maybe he’ll come for the gnome,_ she thought, and briefly felt a flash of regret that she wouldn’t be working that day.  
  
Unexpectedly, however, the gnome did not belong to the subject of her inner musings. It actually belonged to an upperclassman called Jack Harkness, who had recently made a splash after he was temporarily suspended from the Uni’s football club for disciplinary reasons. Apparently he had been responsible for the outbreak of mistletoe across campus and the Dean of Colleges had not been amused.  
  
Jake came away from the encounter with a massive, starry-eyed crush on the sidelined football player, who according to him was the most gorgeous male specimen on campus. He went on so much about Jack Harkness that Rose began to feel like she had missed out on meeting a celebrity or some sort of Greek god.  
  
The week dragged on. Friday came around once more, and with it came Alonso.  
  
*  
  
"Do you people even _understand_ what the Lost Property Office is for?” Rose asked incredulously.  
  
"John said you’d be cool with it," the boy who had brought Alonso in muttered, looking very aggrieved. "He said ‘take Alonso to Rose Tyler at Lost Property Services. She’ll keep an eye on him’. I told him it wasn’t a good idea, but he said-"  
  
"I’m not a tortoise baby-sitter!"  
  
"Please? It’s not… convenient for him to stay at our rooms right now."  
  
"But I haven’t got any food for him!" She threw her hands up, exasperated. "So you go back and tell… John, was it? Tell John to get his arse over here pronto or I’m reporting him to animal services!"  
  
Sensing that he’d won the battle, the boy made a quick exit with a mumbled excuse about being late for his classes. Rose looked at the little tortoise. “Good thing I kept your bucket, eh?”  
  
*  
  
It was quite an experience to wake up with a tortoise on your chest, and while some people are able to shake off the experience with no sweat, other people do not take so kindly to it. Other people being Rose’s mum, who screamed upon opening her eyes and finding a pair of shiny black windows to a reptilian soul staring back at her.  
  
Tony was called upon to explain himself for allowing his pets to wander loose about the house. He was adamant that the tortoise in his mummy’s bed wasn’t one of his own, and in the midst of the great confusion Rose finally dragged herself out of bed and realised what had conspired.  
  
"I’m sorry, Mum! I didn’t know he would get out! I could’ve sworn I closed my bedroom door!"  
  
After much apologizing, many mugs of tea and an impromptu serving of breakfast in bed, Jackie Tyler was at last appeased. Rose slipped Alonso into her book bag with a leaf of lettuce to keep him company and headed to school.  
  
*  
  
Two days later, the doors of the Lost Property Office banged open.  
  
"Alonso! I’ve come for you!" Alonso’s owner made to duck under the partition gate that separated them. "And hello to you, too, Rose Tyler! Did you miss me?"  
  
Obviously he was speaking to Alonso. Obviously. But he looked at Rose as he said it, with a smile, so it felt like it was directed at her. “My maracas! I had a feeling you’d have them!”  
  
"Oh no you don’t," said Rose, electing to focus on his actions instead of his words. She set Alonso on her stool and hurried to bar the way with both arms outstretched. "You’re not removing a thing from this room without signing the logs."  
  
He pouted. He was very tall, and she had to bend her neck back to look up at him. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, and under it he was wearing several more layers, probably to compensate for the lack of a jacket. There was a windblown look to him, but that might’ve just been a result of the tousled-on-purpose hairstyle he seemed fond of sporting. It wasn’t half unattractive, she thought.  
  
Rose crossed her arms over her chest. “No exceptions. I got in trouble last time.”  
  
"Oh!" His face fell. "Did you?"  
  
"Not a lot of trouble," she amended, because he looked genuinely contrite. "But I’m going to have to insist that you follow proper procedure this time."  
  
"What’s proper procedure?"  
  
"You stay on that side of the counter and I’ll bring the recovered items out."  
  
"How are you going to know what’s mine if I don’t come over there and identify it?"  
  
"You tell me what you’ve lost first."  
  
He scoffed. “That’s a long list! I’m supposed to just _know_ this off the top of my head?”   
  
“ _Most_ people remember what they’ve lost,” said Rose repressively. “ _Most_ people don’t try to use the Lost Property Office as their personal storage centre.”  
  
"I’m not! I’m just… forgetful!"  
  
Rose snorted. “What’s going on at your residence hall?”  
  
"What? Nothing."  
  
"Then why wouldn’t it be safe for Alonso to be there?"  
  
"It’s perfectly safe now," he said, with a wave of his hand. "All taken care of. Thank you. You’ve been taking him home, haven’t you?"  
  
Rose looked at him in surprise, and then suspicion. “How do you know that?”  
  
He smiled, a pleased, aren’t-I-clever? smile, and looked over her head - with utter ease, she noted. He was just… so _tall_ and smelled like men’s soap and it was very distracting how close they were standing to each other. Way too close. Rose took a step back. She cleared her throat and moved to the other side of the room to distract herself from… his distracting-ness.   
  
"Let’s make a wager," he said suddenly. "How about it?"  
  
"What sort of wager?"  
  
"I bet you can’t pick out seven things in this room that belong to me, without any hints."  
  
"What’s the forfeit?"  
  
"If you lose, Rose Tyler, you agree to take Alonso in, no questions asked, no matter how many times he shows up here."  
  
"Fine," said Rose, rising to the challenge. "What do I get if I get them right?"  
  
"You decide."  
  
"Deal."  
  
"Alonso doesn’t count, of course."  
   
"I know."  
  
"Just making sure."  
  
She turned to survey the goods. “Alright. First of all, I’m sensing a bit of a musical instruments theme this week. I mean, this has got you written all over it,” she said, pulling a set of maracas off the shelf. “And this, this is just sad. A ukulele with only one string.”  
  
He rocked back on his heels. “I needed the strings for something else.”  
  
"Next item: an old biscuit tin full of…" She opened it, peered inside, and pulled out several slips of aged paper. "Christmas cracker jokes. ‘What did Adam say on the day before Christmas? It’s Christmas, Eve!’ Yikes."  
  
He said, soberly, “A classic for the ages.”  
  
"What do vampires sing on New Year’s Eve?" Rose read from another one. "Auld Fang Syne!"  
  
"Brilliant."  
  
"What do you get if you cross Santa with a duck?"  
  
"A Christmas Quacker!" he finished the joke gleefully, finally losing his sober facade.  
  
Rose grinned. She held up the end of a ten foot long paper-clip chain. “And what is this for, exactly?”   
  
"One never knows when a paper clip will come in handy," he replied. "I like to stay prepared."  
  
"In case of a paper clip shortage?"  
  
"You mock, but it happened in 1974. Chicago area. Prices more than doubled when steel mills cut back on the production of low-grade wire in favour of more profitable high-grade steel."  
  
"Right. ‘Course it did."  
  
A stack of lad’s mags lay in the corner. Rose eyed them, and then looked over her shoulder at him. He smiled innocently back. Probably not. Maybe not. Well. Could be? All boys sneaked them into their residence halls, it wasn’t exactly rare. Her ex, Mickey, had a stash in his nan’s garage, and she’d once found an extremely dated one in Grandpa Prentice’s old things.  
  
She brought them over just to see his reaction. He shook his head. “Nope.”  
  
"I’m not judging you," she said with a straight face.  
  
"Still no. For the record, I wouldn’t lose them if I had them."  
  
"Precious, are they?"  
  
"No comment."  
  
"Uh huh." She set a ziploc pouch on the counter.  "Bag full of beetle corpses, that’s you as well."  
  
"Preserved artefacts, if you don’t mind. I’m holding that for a friend."  
  
He was so full of it. Rose pulled out the final, most obvious item. “And lastly, this canoe paddle with the initials J.S. carved into them. Recovered in the lift at the library.”  
  
"Six out of seven is not bad," he said, eyes dancing. "Not bad at all. But not good enough, I’m afraid. I still win our wager."  
  
"Hold on, that’s not fair! How do I know you aren’t lying about the mags not being yours?"  
  
"I would never! Look at this face, this is an honest face."  
  
It was certainly an attractive face, and up close she could see a spattering of freckles that made it endearing in addiction to attractive. He was, she thought with a tiny bit of despair, actually rather fit. Though she would verbally deny it with vehemence, the truth was Rose had a type. And John, annoyingly enough, fit perfectly into her libido’s set parameters.  
  
"You agreed," he said, in a singsong voice. "Don’t be the kind of person who welches on a bet, Rose Tyler! I had high hopes for you!"  
  
"What’s that supposed to mean?"  
  
"It means I was hoping we could be friends," he said, leaning both elbows on the counter. "But I can’t possibly be friends with someone who backs out when they lose a wager. That’s just not cricket."  
  
Never one to suffer insults to her honour, Rose held her nose up high and said, “Fine. I agree to shelter Alonso as per our arrangement. But know that I’m only doing it out of concern for his welfare.”  
  
"Of course," he said smoothly, sliding the beetles and paper clips and maracas into his trouser pockets. It looked ridiculous, just as it had the last time. The ukulele and paddle went under one armpit each. "Well, that’s my cue to dash."  
  
Rose tamped down the feeling of disappointment that suddenly made itself well-known. She pushed the log towards him with a meaningful look. He obliged, signing his name with a flourish.  
  
 _John Smith._  
  
She opened her mouth to say something. Something witty and funny and memorable.   
  
What came out was: “Bye, John.”  
  
If he was surprised at all by her use of his name, he didn’t show it. He merely grinned and waved. “See you later, Rose Tyler.”  
  
*


	3. The Tortoise Who Loved Me

At times like these, Rose wished she was a tortoise. From what she’d seen, it was a good life. A relaxing existence. One ate lettuce, one crawled around slowly, one ate more lettuce. Occasionally, one hibernated. One presumably spent a lot of time with one’s human owner, getting into all sorts of unknown adventure and trouble. A superior lifestyle.  
  
Sadly, Rose wasn’t a tortoise, but human, and a university student at that. An extremely worn out, fed up university student.  
  
Her coursework was multiplying by the minute. Essay deadlines loomed and the pending spectre of exams meant that Rose was busier than ever. She didn’t have time to think about things like tall boys with stand-uppy hair and sensitive poet eyes. She barely had time to sleep and eat. Further rumination on the subject was impossible. There were not enough hours in the day.  
  
And yet… she found herself wondering about the little tortoise, and whether he’d been fed, and if his owner would ‘lose’ him accidentally-on-purpose again. She wondered about it way more often than she ought to, considering how busy she was.  
  
In fact, she was so bogged down with revision that she’d had to beg off work for the two weeks leading up to Christmas just to get caught up with it all. She was spending most of her time these days in the library between classes, sitting in a quiet corner at a table by herself, mobile turned off. No one bothered her. Her friends probably thought she was dead, or avoiding them - and Rose could only carry on, guiltily counting down the days until her Christmas break rolled around.  
  
She was on her third day of solitary revision and was intently reading a passage in her textbook when she felt something nudge her foot under the table. Rose frowned. She reached down and came back up with - lo and behold - a tortoise in hand.  
  
"Alonso," she said, equal parts split between amusement, excitement and perplexity, "What are you doing here?"  
  
A red ribbon had been tied around his middle, the loopy bow positioned at the centre of his shell giving him a festive, top-heavy air. Rose carefully turned him over and saw that there was something attached to the ribbon. A rolled up piece of paper. She unfastened it.  
  
"You are cordially invited to the Drama Department’s Annual Christmas Panto. Warmest Regards, Your Loving Admirer Alonso," she read. "PS. Look under the table."   
  
She pushed her chair back and bent to look. Sure enough, there was a red envelope taped to the flat underside, inches away from an ancient wad of dried-up chewing gum. Rose peeled it free, eagerly opening it to inspect the contents. She found an invitation to the Drama Department’s Christmas Party, which according to the card would take place after the evening’s musical comedy production. A single ticket was included. It listed a date, time and place.  
  
Picking up Alonso and stuffing the invitation back into the envelope, Rose gathered her books into her bag and slung it over one shoulder. She wandered up and down the library aisles, accidentally interrupting a couple canoodling in a secluded corner. Whoops. With hastily muttered apologies, Rose backed out of that section only to immediately bump into someone else.  
  
The invitation fluttered to the ground as she walked, face first, into a familiar chest (the very same one she’d spent a lot of time trying not to think about). Her heart did a funny little leap in her chest.  
  
"Gotcha!" said John Smith, deftly catching Alonso who had begun to slip from her hand. He beamed down at her, eyes twinkling through a pair of black-rimmed specs that gave him an appealingly book-ish air. "Looking for me?"  
  
(Oh no. She really liked the spectacles. _Really_ liked them.)  
  
"As a matter of fact, yes," she replied, stomach fluttering as she watched him bend to pick up the envelope. "Have you got Alonso trained up to deliver messages now?"  
  
The smile he gave her was dazzling. (Crap. She really liked that too.) “Oh, no training needed- Alonso’s very special, very clever. Just point him in the direction you want him to go, and viola! Delivery by tortoise, more reliable than Royal Mail any day of the week! Slow and steady, but gets there in the end.”  
  
That was true enough. Despite being adorable and unflappable, Alonso didn’t travel with much speed, and (as she and Tony had discovered) mostly covered distance in a straight line.  
  
Casually, she plucked the invitation from his hand and flicked her eyes over the card. “This says I have a plus one.”  
  
"Ah," he said, "About that. It’s actually my ticket. So I have the plus one. Which would be you. If you want."  
  
"You’re asking me to go with you?"  
  
(As in, together? As in, a _date_?)  
  
He peered at her, pushing his glasses slightly up so that they rested more comfortably on his noise. “You haven’t got plans, have you? Say you’re free. Alonso’s got his little heart set on your coming to see him. Did I mention he’s going to be performing? He’s starring in the Panto. He’d really love if it you came.”  
  
"Oh yeah?" Rose grinned, tongue poking out between her teeth. "He told you that, did he?"  
  
"Yep. Won’t shut up about it. Kept nagging me and nagging me, I had to give in. Reckon he’s got a crush on you. He’s been asking everyone he knows about you, actually. You haven’t been at the Lost Property Office all week - he’s been awfully worried. Heard through the grapevine that you’ve been taking some time off to revise. Figured you’d be at the library. It paid off."  
  
He rested an elbow against the bookshelf, head tilted, ever-so-slightly leaning towards her. Not cornering her, no, there was at least two feet of space between them, and they weren’t touching, not even close, but… there was proximity, and she felt somewhat warm and giddy from it.  
  
"I see," said Rose, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling too widely.   
  
"Poor little fellow. Take pity on him, won’t you? I don’t think his tender feelings could handle the crushing disappointment if you refused to come. He traveled so far to make the offer. It took him nearly half an hour just to get across the floor, and the angle wasn’t right the first couple of tries, poor thing kept accidentally veering into the Biography section but he persevered."  
  
John paused, hand on his chest, his expression beseechingly poignant. “Make his dreams come true, Rose Tyler.” He touched his tongue to the roof of his mouth, emphasizing the last syllable of her name in that funny, enjoyable way he always did. “He’d be ever so delighted to have your company.”  
  
Rose darted a shy glance up at him through her lashes and pressed her back to the bookcase. She cleared her throat and said, “In that case, you’d better tell him I’d love to come.”  
  
*  
  
Alonso came to visit Rose every day at the library after that, dropped off by his human companion (who, to her ceaseless annoyance, never did any revising himself and yet somehow managed to remain top of his class. It was maddeningly unfair).  
  
Most days Alonso came bearing gifts - a chocolate truffle, a handwritten joke, a paper rose folded out of pink origami paper.  
  
She got home every night with a smile on her face. Her parents exchanged knowing looks over the dinner table, but it wasn’t until Mum was tucking Tony into bed that her dad said, “Mickey coming round for Christmas?”  
  
"No," said Rose, snorting. Mickey’s holiday plans probably consisted of playing video games and snogging Trisha Delany when he remembered things other than gaming existed. "We broke up, Dad."  
  
Jackie came back into the room. “Try to keep up, love. That ended six months ago.”  
  
Pete sighed. “More competition for my little girl. Am I going to like this one?”  
  
” _Dad._ " Rose blushed hotly. "I have no idea what you’re on about!"  
  
"It’s turtle boy, Pete. I told you about him, didn’t I?" said Jackie to her husband, much to Rose’s dismay and embarrassment. She gave Rose a sidelong, teasing glance as she began putting on the kettle for her evening cuppa. "What’s _he_ doing for Christmas?”  
  
” _Mum_!” Her face felt beet red. Rose pushed out of her seat and declared, “I’m going to bed.”  
  
"What did I say?"  
  
It was entirely their fault that she couldn’t focus on her final (hallelujah!) term paper after that. She tossed and turned in bed, wondering what John’s Christmas plans were before finally falling to sleep and dreaming strange dreams of spinning Christmas trees chasing her through the streets.  
  
*  
  
Rose was concentrating so heavily that she barely noticed the door swinging open with a swirl of wind and rain.  
  
John announced his arrival with the squeaky sound of wet converse against the polished flooring. He collapsed his rather ugly, massive purple umbrella and rested it against the legs of a nearby table.  
  
"Hullo, Rose Tyler!"  
  
"Hi," said Rose, chewing on her nail. _No blushing_ , she told herself sternly. _Don’t look directly at him. Stupid parents._  
  
"Whatcha doing?" He ambled over, nosy as anything.  
  
"Padding out my word count on this writing assignment for my Ancient Civillizations course," she said, wrinkling her nose. "It’s due at five PM. I… I need a very clever, long, and difficult to spell synonym for something that isn’t true."  
  
"Fallacious," he offered. "If you’re trying to say something is logically unsound because it’s  based on false beliefs."  
  
"Ooh, that’s good. Spelling, please."  
  
"F-a-l-l-a-c-i-o-u-s. Fallacious."  
  
"Ta."  
  
"Don’t mention it."  
  
"Just a mo," she muttered, "I’m almost done…"  
  
Several minutes passed as Rose typed, fully immersed in writing. When she looked up, John was gone, and so was Alonso. Dismay filled her - she’d completely ignored him and he’d left. _You idiot!_ Rubbing her face with both hands, she huffed out a frustrated breath and checked the time. A little under an hour left before the library closed, and twenty minutes to her deadline. She’d completely lost track of time.  
  
She would apologize to John as soon as she saw him again, she decided, and powered down her laptop. The skies were horribly dark outside. A storm had hit and the sound of torrential rain pounding against the building made her wince.  
  
Rose gathered her things slowly, psyching herself up for the freezing run to her Professor’s office and the inevitable drenching she would receive. She was just about to step out when the doors opened, and John appeared as if by magic before her very eyes.   
  
"Oh, good, you’re still here. It’s dreadful out, come on-"  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"I came back to fetch you," he said, wiping his face with one sleeve. Droplets of water from his partially folded umbrella dripped onto Rose. She flinched - "Oops, sorry." He swiped at her wet nose with his thumb, as if it were the most natural thing to do in the world. "You forgot yours, didn’t you?"  
  
"Oh." Something warm and tingly blossomed in her stomach, both pleasant and unnerving at once. He’d come back because she’d forgotten to carry an umbrella with her. Even after she’d been horribly rude earlier. "Thanks."  
  
John was seemingly oblivious of the blush that coloured Rose’s cheeks. Or maybe he wasn’t, because he met her gaze and smiled a wide, fond smile.  
  
"I’ll walk you over, shall I?" he said, slinging his arm around her shoulders and opening the umbrella over them both. "Allons-y!"  
  
*


	4. Under Some Shrubbery, As Tradition Goes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! This is the last bit, with perhaps an epilogue to come if I can think of anything to add. Cheers and happy holidays!

"I have to admit," Rose said, her arms full of tinsel and hay, "I didn’t expect to be doing this three days before end of term."  
  
John sneezed, dropping his own bundle of sparkly straw. He was assisting Donna set up for the annual Christmas Panto that night, and Rose had somehow been roped into it, too.  
  
"Ooh, bless you," she said, setting her armful down.  
  
"Thanfs." He wiped at his face and sneezed again. "I fink ahm ahleergic."  
  
Rose tried not to laugh. “Let’s get you away from this stuff. C’mon.”  
  
They hurried to deposit the hay bundles onto the stage at the bottom of the small auditorium and escaped through a back door. It was, miracle of miracles, gently snowing outside - tiny little flakes that melted once they hit the ground. It certainly wouldn’t last, not by a long shot, but it did make everything look like a scene out of a Christmas card.  
  
He reached for her hand and pulled her along the path through the school grounds behind the Drama building.  
  
"How long before Donna notices we’re gone?" she asked.  
  
"Oh, I reckon we have about ten minutes to take a leisurely stroll before anyone misses us. This path’ll take us right round to the front entrance again." He swung their joined hands, grinning mischievously. "Look at this scenery!  So festive! It’d be a shame to let it go to waste."  
  
John himself looked very festive, too, in his reindeer jumper and fake antlers. Two pairs, in fact, because one set apparently was not enough for him. When Rose brought it up, he said, “Oh, they’re my great-uncle Wilf’s. It’s a family tradition, passed on through the generations. One set facing forward, one set backwards. Luck and cheer both ways, coming and going.”  
  
"In my family, the only appropriate holiday head coverings are pink paper crowns from Christmas crackers. You’d be lynched at the supper table."  
  
"Bloodthirsty lot, your family," he replied.  
  
"Tony might go easy on you, but only cos’ he’s five and doesn’t like anything that isn’t yellow."  
  
"You’d go easy on me, too. I know you would."  
  
"I’m in this for Alonso. He’s very precious to me."  
  
John slapped his free hand over his heart, theatrically. Rose stuck her tongue out at him. He grinned. “Don’t tempt me.”  
  
Her stomach did a little flip, but she maintained her cool. His hand was cold against her own sweaty palms. She was a bit self-conscious about it but he didn’t seem or notice, or maybe he simply didn’t care, so that was alright.  
  
Donna was waiting for them on the steps in front of the building. As they drew closer, it was clear she wasn’t alone. John stiffened.  
  
"Oh, don’t look like that," Donna said, exasperated. "Jack came around to help, because _I_ asked him to. Jack, this is Rose, John’s friend. She’s volunteering tonight.”  
  
"Nice to meet you, Rose," said Jack, stepping around Donna to shake her hand and surprising her on several accounts. Firstly, she got a clear look at his face - he was ridiculously handsome, all chiseled jaw and blue eyes; secondly, he had an American accent, which was unexpectedly engaging. "Jack Harkness. Football club, Captain."  
  
"Ex-captain," put in John.  
  
"Temporary suspension," said Jack smoothly. "A misunderstanding."  
  
"The punishment fits the crime, you’ll find. I mean, mistletoe? Juvenile at best. Definitely not someone I’d want in a position of leadership."  
  
The ex-football captain’s jaw tensed, briefly, but he didn’t acknowledge the jab.  
  
"Hello," Rose said in belated bewilderment, "Nice to meet you too."  
  
Jack smiled, a very charming smile, full of white teeth and sparkling eyes. For a second Rose was overwhelmed; it was very disorienting to be the focus of so much sheer handsomeness, and she now understood exactly why Jake had fallen so hard. He was still holding her hand.  
  
Then Donna said, “Where’s Alonso’s costume? Babs is going nuts, she’s been searching high and low for the last hour and still can’t find it anywhere.”  
  
"Oh!" John slapped his forehead with exaggerated emphasis. He slapped - quite literally - Jack’s hand away. "I left it back in my room! Rose and I will go fetch it, shall we? Back in two yoinks!"  
  
*  
  
John’s residence hall was about fifteen minutes away on foot, but the walk this time wasn’t nearly as enjoyable as their excursion earlier. John was acting oddly, his pace faster than usual, and he held onto her hand more firmly than warranted, as though he were afraid he’d lose his grip on her.  
  
She hovered awkwardly by the door of his room, taking in the two beds, the book-laden desk, the completely random assortment of items stuffed into a wardrobe too full to keep shut. Her eyes fell on the far wall, where something that looked like soot seemed to have splattered onto the blue paint, but for a weird silhouette that resembled a cone near the ground.  
  
"There used to be a gnome in that corner," he said, following the direction of her gaze. "And a jungle gym made of pipes for Alonso, but he outgrew it."  
  
"You don’t look like a gnome sort of man," she said.  
  
"Oh absolutely not. Gnomes? Not my style. It belonged to the person who lived in this room with me until recently. Not a very nice bloke, that one."  
  
"Jack used to be your roommate?"  
  
He boggled at her. “How’d you figure that? Do you know him?”  
  
"Just met him twenty minutes ago."  
  
John gave her a bemused look. “He’s not the captain of the football club anymore, y’know. As a matter of fact, he failed two of his courses last year. And he’s highly irresponsible with local wildlife. I don’t know if you heard about the incident with the foxes on campus, but- well.” He stopped, sounding flustered. “Enough about him.”  
  
"Mmm." She looked around the room again, noting particularly the floating shelves above his bed. An unexpectedly wide selection of snow domes with various picturesque scenes inside sat on them. "Nice snowglobes."  
  
"Thanks." He glanced sideways at her. "Really?"  
  
"No," she admitted. "Bit creepy, to tell you the truth."  
  
"Yeah," he said sadly. "But Aunt Sylvia insists on buying me one every year for Christmas. It’s all she knows. I think she had a very sad childhood."  
  
They looked at the snowglobes in silence for a moment. Then he shrugged and said awkwardly, “Well! Thanks for helping me out. I mean, for helping me help Donna out. Something like that.”  
  
It wasn’t until then that she understood the awkwardness. He was nervous. John, who had unlimited self-confidence and buoyant charm, was nervous because there was a girl in his room.  
  
"It’s cool," she said, and meant it. "Your room, I mean. Tidier than I expected. No pervy mags."  
  
He snorted, the tension dissipating. “Got your seal of approval, then, Rose Tyler?”  
  
"I mean, I have to check under the bed to be sure, but-"  
  
"Alright, take it easy. I’ve got Alonso’s headpiece so we can go now before you start excavating the place."  
  
*  
  
Donna set the two of them - John and Jack - to repairing a set piece that had fallen down. It involved using hammers and nails, which seemed like an unwise move considering the tension Rose had witnessed between them earlier.  
  
"Are you going to help me fix this manger or is baby Jesus going to be born in a tent made out of tablecloths and clothespins?"  
  
"I _am_ helping,” John gritted out. “I’ve got a splinter.”  
  
"Where’d your gloves go?"  
  
"I dropped them."  
  
Jack snorted. “You’d lose your head if it weren’t attached to your shoulders.”  
  
"That saying makes no sense. The cognitive centre of the body is the brain, which is housed in one’s head. From that perspective, I’d have lost my body. Not the other way around. And I’d be dead."  
  
"Fine," Jack snapped. "You’d lose your body if it weren’t attached to your head."  
  
They bickered the entire time, sniping at each other like cranky schoolchildren. Rose had never seen John interact with anyone with anything less than cheerful cordiality, so it was a shock to witness him being openly hostile with Jack.  
  
Donna rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry about it. They’ve been like that since they were twelve, everything is a competition. Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but if I were you, I’d stay away from Jack. He’s not a bad sort, but John won’t take it well.”  
  
And with that cryptic piece of advice, Donna swanned off, shouting directions at a hapless group of actors on the stage who were presumably practicing their lines. They scattered like startled doves, leaving Rose to return to her assigned task.  
  
She was assisting ‘Babs’ in arranging the sparkly hay around the space that would be occupied by the Manger once it was fixed. Rose watched in silence as Babs artfully inserted objects into the straw at random - things like jars of buttons and maracas and a single plastic mannequin arm.  
  
Rose mentally shrugged. _It’s art. You’re not supposed to understand it._  
  
The boys had finished their repairs by the time Babs was done. John was nowhere to be seen. Rose wandered about, looking for him and carefully keeping her distance from Jack, who seemed disposed towards attempting to catch her eye from time to time.  
  
"Do me a favour," Donna said, when Rose passed by her for the third time in her meandering search for John. "Take the lift to the second floor and ask for Professor Reitner, he promised to do sound check for us before the show and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since noon."  
  
Rose obliged, deciding John would show up eventually.  
  
 ”Make sure you take the lift _alone_ ,” warned Donna.  
  
"Okay…"  
  
It became clear why as soon as Rose was inside the lift. Someone had taped a sprig of mistletoe to the centre of the escape door at the top of the elevator cab. Directly above where Rose was standing.  
  
Jack, several paces away, noticed and broke into a smile that not-so-subtly resembled a leer. He took a step towards the lift.  
  
She was torn between 1) hitting the close door button repeatedly and hoping for the best, 2) exiting the lift and making a dash for safety, or 3) let Jack kiss her. Which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, really, if not for the fact that he wasn’t the person she wanted to be kissing.  
  
What happened next was so unlikely, it had to be a figment of her imagination.  
  
She stabbed the close button with a finger, praying for speed. Jack’s expression changed from anticipatory to confused to annoyed. He was abruptly yanked out of Rose’s line of sight as the lift doors began to close. A hand suddenly slapped against them, holding them open long enough for a familiar body to slip inside.  
  
John lurched forward and caught his balance as the doors slid shut behind him. He ruffled his hair with one hand and gave a victorious shout of “Ha!”  
  
He didn’t seem to notice that Rose was staring at his back, her mouth open. “Where did you even come from?” she finally asked, half in amazement. “I didn’t even _see_ you.”  
  
"I was coming back upstairs," he explained, huffing. "Alonso kept trying to escape his pen so I went to look for something to feed him. Imagine my surprise when I rounded the corner to see Jack Harkness cornering you in the lift!" He looked up at the mistletoe with a scowl. "He was just waiting for an opportunity to… honestly, the bloody cheek!"  
  
"Well, you foiled his plan," said Rose soothingly. John’s frown lightened but he still seemed cross. "Where’s Alonso?"  
  
"Onstage," he muttered. "Sorry, Rose."  
  
She gave him a puzzled smile. “What’re you apologizing for?”  
  
"S’not going the way I imagined," he said, sounding resigned. "I thought- I mean, tonight’s the first time we’ve… sort of officially… well. I dunno. It’s all gone badly."  
  
"It hasn’t," Rose protested, "It’s been great."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
She couldn’t resist teasing him. “Oh yeah, being trapped in the lift has always been a dream of mine.”  
  
"We’re not trapped," he said slowly. He pulled his hand away from the panel of buttons on the wall and straightened up to his full height. He seemed even taller than usual in the confines of the lift and suddenly the space seemed smaller than it had just a moment ago.  
  
Rose realised he’d been holding the stop button. “Uh- why’s the emergency light on?” She peered past him. “Is it jammed?”  
  
"No," he said, "You have to press it twice to release it. This keeps it from moving."  
  
"Oh." She paused, wondered why that was necessary. She opened her mouth to ask, but what came out instead was: "Why’d you do that, anyway?"  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Rush the lift doors."  
  
"I didn’t want you to be alone with him. In here."  
  
"Oh. Well, you needn’t have worried," Rose said lightly, wondering at the shift in tension between them. "I can take care of myself."  
  
"That’s not that I meant," he replied. A light of determination entered his eyes. "I didn’t want him to get to kiss you because of… of some shrubbery. That’s not fair."  
  
"No one is kissing me because of shrubbery," Rose said firmly.  
  
"Right. Good." He shuffled his feet, moving to lean against the wall. Clearly putting himself out of the perimeter of the mistletoe. Well, she’d just said that she wouldn’t kiss someone under it, hadn’t she? She had.  
  
Then, with ridiculous casualness, he asked, “No one at all? No exceptions?”  
  
Her heart skipped a beat. “Exceptions?”  
  
"Alonso, for instance. He’d like to kiss you under some mistletoe, I bet."  
  
"Weeeeeell," she said, smiling a bit, "If it was Alonso…"  
  
"He’ll be pleased to hear that. What about… others who, you know, may also be inclined towards… kissing? Kissing you, that is. With or without mistletoe. But they don’t want to seem like they’re taking advantage, of course, so they _wouldn’t_ do something like that, not unless - er, you were amenable. Just theoretically, you know…?”  
  
He trailed off, looking everywhere but at Rose. A feeling permeated her, a kind of anticipation, a readiness; the sense that _something_ was happening or would happen, and she couldn’t pinpoint whether the feeling was coming from her or from him or from them both.  
  
"Theoretically?" she echoed faintly.  
  
"More… like hopeful," he said, still looking at the ceiling.  
  
"Who?" she asked.  
  
"Me," he said.  
  
"Oh," she squeaked, which was embarrassing, but she barely had the self-awareness to care. John was suddenly looming in front of her, all… all intent and focused and _John-like_ , and she found herself blurting out, “Well… I’d like that!”  
  
"That’s good," he said, his head bending down towards hers, "Because I’m going to, now."  
  
And so he did.  
  
His lips grazed hers, soft and tentative, contrary to the determined way he had declared his intentions. She pressed her mouth to his more firmly and he took the hint, deepening the kiss. Rose melted against him. She clutched at his jumper with one hand and delved the fingertips of her other hand into his hair, nails scraping slightly at his scalp and making him shiver. She thought, _oh yes_ , and did it again. He had the same reaction, and kissed her even more urgently, stealing every breath of air out of her lungs.  
  
"Just to set the record straight," she said when they finally parted to breathe, "It’s not because of shrubbery."  
  
He looked stunned and replied rather weakly, “Shrubbery has got nothing to do with it,” and kissed her again.    
  
Rose was beginning to lose herself in the second kiss when the lift door opened suddenly, startling her. John, whose back was still to the doors, went on nipping at her lower lip as she squirmed, trying to push him away without _pushing_ him away.  
  
"Oi! You prat! I’m going to shave your head! I’ve been waiting for ten bloody minutes, the set is barely finished, we’re half an hour to opening act, and you’re _snogging_ in the only sodding lift in the building!”  
  
John whirled around, just in time to receive a smack in the forehead with the mannequin arm in Donna’s hand. Rose winced, but John clearly wasn’t hurt, because he merely grabbed her hand, dodged around Donna, and stage-whispered-  
  
"Run!"  
  
*


End file.
